The Fat Kid Inside

I have him under control. For now.

I’ve always been fat my whole life. I was the chubby kid when I was younger then I became the fat guy when I grew up. That was my role for a very long time until I started losing weight in 3 periods of my life. I dieted when I was in third year high school, got fat again after a year in college. I workout and got fitter when I was in third year college, then got fat again after two years working. The year 2006 was the best year for me since I looked better when I lost all the weight by simply watching what I eat, then life kicked in hard and in 2008, I was the fat guy once more. In 2017, I have the fat kid under control as I continue to lose weight.

I am nowhere near my end goal because at my age, losing weight is a tough battle. My slow metabolism is now slower and eating right is no longer enough to help me drop the pounds. I now workout almost 5 days a week and still watches my calorie intake. There’s no cheat day for almost 6 months now and even for my birthday last April, my calorie intake was under 1800.

I’m not writing and sharing this to inspire other people. I’m writing this because I still fear that I will lose control of the fat kid inside and gain back all the weight plus more. It happened before, it can happen again.

I’m currently in the process of changing my wardrobe. I donated some of my clothes already because I dropped from XL to medium, from waistline of 36 to 32. Then it hit me, what if I gain it all back? I will need to buy new clothes again and that will cost me. The Bruce Banner side of me said, “NO! You will do everything you can to maintain that size”. The Hulk side of me agreed. I continued to dispose/donate my larger clothes and now enjoying buying smaller ones.

I decided to keep writing so as not to lose sight of what I need to be doing. A friend told me to post my journey on my Facebook and Instagram to let people know what I’m doing and open myself for judgement. He said, it can motivate me to stay on my weight loss program. It’s an idea I welcome but I’ll leave the shirtless and gym photos for the millennials. I’ll motivate myself some other ways.

Photo May 31, 4 59 54 PM

The photo on the left is me when I went home to the Philippines for my cousin’s funeral on January 8, 2013. I weigh 230lbs and it may be my heaviest. The photo on the right was taken October 2014. I’m only 5 foot and 6 inches tall so according to the norm, I should weigh around 142 to 145 pounds to be healthy. I needed to lose 85 pounds. That is already the weight of one small asian woman. I was carrying an extra asian woman!

I lost 60 pounds already and I’m not yet done.



When I was younger, I asked my mother to bring me to a psychiatrist because I believed that there’s something wrong with me. I had panic attacks and I got sick to my stomach I always wanted to skip school. It was during my first year in high school.

Every morning was like hell for me, I was wishing to get fever because that was the only reason my mother would allow me to miss school. I thought of putting garlic under my underarms to make my temperature rise because according to my mother, that’s what she did when she was younger. I chickened out and went to school every day.

I remember not being able to sleep on school nights because I was anticipating what will happen the following day in school. I knew then as a kid that it was panic attacks. I was sweating heavily, lost my appetite, and lost interest in school.

My mother reasoned with me and told me that I was just adjusting to my new school and I should give it some time. I came from a small school with only 14 of us in the graduating class and the new school had 60 students in one section. There was 5 sections total for the first year students. I believed my mother and stayed in school for 2 more weeks.

My panic attacks persisted and I already told my mother that I want to quit school or at least get me a doctor. I felt back then that the doctor can help me with my “condition”, with what I felt. She decided to move me to another school after two weeks with familiar faces. I transferred to a school near my house where I knew at least 10 people in the school.

I never talked about that “incident” with anyone ever again until few weeks ago when I opened up to my high school friend when I had another episode, another panic attack.

This is my normal. I was never diagnosed medically. My hospital here in New York has a program about depression and I would always answer questionnaires pertaining to being lonely, being depressed, or having suicidal thoughts. I always say NO to those questions. I don’t want to be labeled and I don’t want to take medications.

One thing I noticed about the health care system here in America is that they always prescribe medications in every single diagnosis. My doctor gave me 3 tablets for my blood pressure last year, if I said YES to those questions about depression, I’m sure they will give me another list of medication to take. I want none of that.

I have another episode this morning. I woke up really down for no reason at all. I felt helpless. I felt like there’s something I need to do but I have no idea what. My sadness turned to anger and I was mad at people for no apparent reason. I went to the gym to walk it off. That is what I do to make myself feel better. I walk.

Sometimes I talk. I talk with some friends that would understand. The problem with this kind of condition is that not everybody will understand. Not everybody will have the time to listen. I always find myself in that situation being an immigrant here in New York City, there’s no one to talk to. I left my closest friends in the Philippines and the 12-hour time difference doesn’t help as well.

This is why I started writing again. I feel like I have a lot of things on my chest, on my mind that I need to let out somehow. I’m not expecting a reply but knowing that I let it out in the universe eases my mind a bit.

I feel better now. Thank you for reading universe.